


the struggles of a lieutenant

by roseprice612



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, not very explicit, not very fun stuff, the usual warnings that go with writing about sauron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:24:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseprice612/pseuds/roseprice612
Summary: sauron just tries to go about his business and recognizes a mistake of his. oops





	the struggles of a lieutenant

**Author's Note:**

> set in early middle-earth, sauron is new to the job (but hopelessly lost to Morgoth already)
> 
> as kind of promised, heres some more sauron oriented stuff. enjoy

This was a mistake.

It was a failure. Something that was never supposed to happen. A falsity. And it was all too real, and all too painful.

Mairon had been in the middle of a thought, walking down the row of cells of prisoners. It was an important thought, something philosophical, but if he tried to remember back on it he doubted he could know what he was talking about.

What caught his attention was the sudden wet spit on his cheek. His head whipped around, curls bounded around his shoulders. "Who did that?" He hissed into the darkness, wiping his cheek in disgust. It was very rare that a prisoner would go out of their way to harm or offend him, and those prisoners were usually new and hadn't learned yet.

The voice that answered wasn't new. "It was me."

He recognized it, as he knew the voices of all his slaves and prisoners. This voice was the voice of an Uruk that had been _too_ aggressive, and _too_ clever, and had to be locked up. It was a danger, he should have just killed him, but Mairon was always determined to not have a failed project. He needed to brainwash them entirely, and impress his Master.

"Was it now?" He spun on his high-heeled boots and crouched down to the cell he knew the Uruk was in. "And what makes you think you have the right to do that, slave?"

"I got a mouth," He rasped, a blocky head coming into the dim light of the torch Mairon held. "Wondered if I could getchu. I guess I did."

"Yes. You did." A smile spread across Mairon's face as he thought of all the things he could do to him. "What makes you think I won't punish you for that?"

The torch lowered down as Mairon crouched, bringing it right to the Uruk's face to startle him. He didn't jump. He smiled at the flames, actually. A finger slid through the bars to touch the heat.

"You will. Which is why I done it."

Mairon, at this point, was predicting his every move. He knew the mind of this creature, he knew the crevices and basements of his mind, every small thought and big thought. He wasn't very surprised at this answer, but his emotions got the best of him and rage consumed his body. He had enough of these violent outbursts, he'd had enough of little uprisings and revolts.

"Oh, I will punish you." He spat, unlocking the door to the cell and walking in, shutting and locking it again as he entered. The Uruk stood.

As soon as his head turned to meet his prisoner, something hard and damp hit his forehead and slammed his skull back against the cell door.

"F-uck," Mairon cursed, as a thick hand gripped the collar of his robes and yanked him up, his head getting banged back again by the hard object. It felt like a club. With a surge of energy Mairon kneed the body in front of him in the stomach and bit the arm. His head pounded and dizziness took over his eyes, but the attacker dropped back and paused, standing above him as he dropped to the floor.

There was laughter. "Ha. Weaker than I thought."

It was the Uruk, of course. Mairon sat up and shook his head, silver eyes finally able to see the one in front of him. He was smiling crookedly and in his hand was a club-like roll of- of something. He couldn't tell.

The Uruk saw his eyes on his weapon and smiled. "Know what this is?" He dropped down to his side and pinned his arms with his knees, sitting on his chest. "It was my shirt. I pissed and spat in it and froze it in the cold corner of my cell. I think it's cooled down just enough for..."

Large hands cracked the frozen shirt in half, showing the much more cooled down inside, wet and dripping onto Mairon's chest. He scowled in disgust and tried to scrabble away, the knees digging into his upper arms preventing him from doing so, and an unusual bit of panic seeped into his face as the Uruk brought the rag to his mouth to gag him.

"You- slave!" Mairon shouted, shimmying out from under the prisoner, eyeing the rag with horror. "Get away! I command you to stop!"

It was a useless premise. The Uruk smiled terribly and lunged before he could get away, shoving the rag between his teeth tightly and winding it around his head. Mairon's fingernails dug into the slave's thighs, surely drawing blood, but there was no reaction. With a bit of a struggle the Uruk flipped him on his back, malnourished knees cutting into his back as he tied the rag behind his head. Violation burned into Mairon. He thrashed underneath, desperate to simply escape at this point. He did not even think of what would happen after he escaped.

The Uruk grasped his beautiful hair like a handle as he yanked his head up, smashing it back down on the stone floor over and over again. He felt blood gush from his nose and mouth, tiny rocks on the ground cutting into his skin. His neck snapped back and forth so harshly he thought it'd break.

The smashing had stopped, and he hadn't even noticed. The Uruk was now swiping keys from his pocket, standing hastily and unlocking the door to his cell. Mairon thought, _good riddance_ , but he wasn't done. Vaguely Mairon heard the prisoner unlocking more cell doors, at least ten, and footsteps patterned down the hall. Mairon needed to get up. He needed to escape. He scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood away from his eyes and bolting to the door.

Another club hit him over the forehead. He grabbed the bars of the cell before falling, and was able to kick whoever had hit him. He remembered the ever-present dagger in his pocket and whipped it out, swiping furiously through the air even though he couldn't see very well. The prisoners surged forward, backing him into the cell and the knife clattering to the floor. One of the orcs picked it up and looked it over with reverence.

"S-p!" Mairon screamed, the gag preventing him from saying much. "St-p! Pl-s!"

They didn't listen to his cries, obviously. The mass of them smiled at his pain. In a panic Mairon felt heat rise in his skin, that spirit of fire showing itself. Usually he wouldn't have been this startled or scared, and he hated himself for it. His skin reddened and sparked fire. Silver eyes cursed the prisoners.

"C'mon now," The head Uruk said with a wide smile. "Let's beat him bloody."

Desperately Mairon tore the gag away from his mouth, retching, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. The first blow was to his face, breaking his already bloody nose and causing his body to fall backward. Hands grabbed his burning skin, tore at his singeing clothes until he crouched naked in the corner. They kicked him, they bit at him and clawed at him, they punching and kneed and elbowed and clubbed. The heat burned brightly through Mairon's body, and with enough effort he tried to release his corporeal body, only succeeding in turning his arms to fire. The hands that grabbed him recoiled. He was of the fire of the earth, he was a living torch.

He cried out for his Master as they beat him. He wouldn't be saved, and he knew it, but he was desperate. His own dagger cut into his hip. It was all too violating. They grabbed him in places he didn't want to be grabbed, they slapped him in places he didn't want to be slapped, and all of it added up to an innumerable pain. Finally Mairon was able to merge with the fire within him, leaving his flesh body behind with a scream and a burst of white-hot fire. The bodies around him and the fingers inside him were torn to pieces, burned to ash and causing as much pain as Mairon could manage.

Mairon dropped back down to his corporeal body and collapsed to the ground. Piles of ashes were all around him. Pure, black ash. The cell he'd been cornered in was crumbling, stone red with heat and the metal bars peeling. Tears fell from his face. Bodily liquids dripped from his mouth and blood poured from about every part of his body. Trembling, he slid on what was left of his clothes and stood and left the cell.

All he wanted to do was take a bath. That's all that was on his mind. Take a bath, wash himself off and calm himself down. Maybe fall asleep. His entire body moaned in pain and he could not stop shaking.

He ignored the mocking calls of prisoners as he passed. He'd had enough of trying to punish his slaves for a day. Vaguely he heard an orc calling his name, his ears ringing from the abuse.

"Master Mairon!" The voice rose in his hearing, and he stopped. A small orc appeared in front of him. "Master Mairon, Master Melkor calls for you."

Now? He _had_ to? Mairon avoided eye contact and considered this. "I am not in appearance for that. Tell him to wait an hour." And he began walking again. The orc shivered and followed.

"He insists. He says it's an emergency."

"He cannot wait?" Mairon tried to even his voice.

"No, sir."

"Fine then." He grumbled, changing course for the throne room.

He felt nothing as he walked. The pain was numbing, at most, and the dread that came with having to meet with his Master caused a new fear to rise in his stomach. He hoped to at they least, his Master would not mind his appearance.

He pushed the doors of the throne room open with some difficulty. The little orc had trailed behind him the whole way. Immediately the two of them stopped short. The throne room was bustling with over a hundred people, and Mairon looked down to avoid their gazes. Melkor shifted on his throne and looked over the crowd.

"Everyone out." He called, his voice booming like an earthquake. Hastily the crowd slipped out the now open doors, the little orc escaping too and Mairon standing all alone by the doors. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

"Mairon." The deep voice called, standing from his throne and stepping down from the dais. "Mairon, what is this?"

Mairon knew he was about to be reprimanded, and so he dropped down to a knee and bowed. "Master, I apologize dearly. I wished to dress before coming here, but I was told it was an emergency. I'm sorry."

"Get off the ground, stop being a fool." Melkor grasped his arm and pulled him up. "You smell."

"I am sorry."

"Mairon, tell me why you just killed ten possibly useful prisoners."

Right to the point. Mairon swallowed thickly, cringing at the taste, and raised his head just marginally. "Master, I- they- they beat me. It was self defense."

"Self defense!" Melkor scoffed. "You are my lieutenant and second in command, and you are trying to tell me you look like _this_ because a few prisoners beat you up like some slave?"

"The first one took me by surprise, sir, he had created his own weapon and stole my keys from me and- and let out the other prisoners. They teamed up on me. I had to become fire to get rid of them, it was- there were a lot of them, Master."

"I'm disgusted." Melkor curled his lip. Mairon felt like sobbing. "I truly am. This is not what I have trained you for, Mairon. On your knees."

He knew what was coming, and fell to his already bruised knees. He shouldn't have killed all those prisoners. He shouldn't have even talked to the Uruk who spit on him. He should have just kept walking. It was too late now. He lowered his head as the whip cut into his back.

It wasn't a bad whipping. He didn't have to take off his clothes since they were already torn almost to pieces, and it was only ten times that the whip came down. He could feel the blood seep down his back in gashed rivulets.

It ended before he was aware. He was breathing heavily on the floor in front of his Master, the whip curled up in his hand. A deep voice shook the air.

"Get out of my sight."

Mairon stumbled to his feet, bowed, and got out of that room as quickly as he could. Now he could bathe.

He didn't garner many gazes as he practically ran to his room. By now the shock of seeing the lieutenant in such a state had passed, and instead the prisoners and slaves tried to avoid his gaze. He began to sob again as he went, trembling terribly and his emotion building up until his body faded into fire.

He opened the door to his room with bloodied fingers. As much as he thought of blood as beautiful, it only made him feel disgusting. He shut the door as quickly as he could and ran to the bathroom off of the main room. Running water was a gift of engineering, and he thanked himself for figuring it out as he ran the bath. He washed his hands in the sink after stripping of the now unusable clothes, kicking the bundle aside. He splashed his face with water and rinsed his mouth thoroughly. Then he looked himself in the mirror.

Red hair that usually bounded over his shoulders in silky waves was clumped with congealing blood, mixing in with the already natural fiery red. Silver eyes were dimmed and the left swelled with a rosy bruise. His slim nose was crooked and bashed with blood, dried and crusty around the edges. His cheeks were swelled with bruises and cuts, his jawline jutting out particularly defined. His upper chest was a mess of blood and- and other fluids, cut and scraped and bruised just like his face. His eyes caught a gash in his hip, deeper than the others and still bleeding, and decided he needed to stitch it.

He leaned over to the small cabinet to the right of the mirror, kept specially for keeping medicines, and pulled out a needle and sewing string and a cloth. Then he pulled a small table to the side of the bath and placed the supplies on it. With a low, pained groan, he stepped into the bath and sunk into the steaming water. His slightly steadied hand shut off the faucet and he sat back in the tub. All was quiet for a moment, and he appreciated it. The silence gave way to more pain, and Mairon began to wash his skin of it's abuse.

Quickly the water turned brown, and red, as he scrubbed his body clean. He realized that he was going to have to clean the tub after washing. It would be filthy.

After he was clean, or as clean as he could get, and drained the tub and climbed out. His feet almost gave way in weakness, but he grabbed the wall before he could fall. For a few seconds he stood there, feeling strength return to his legs enough to take the surgical supplies out of the bathroom and sit on the side of his bed. Everything was sore and numb, and he prayed the gash in his hip was too. It wasn't. But he threaded the needle through his skin anyway, pulling the wound shut with each stroke of the needle.

A knock at the door. Mairon hadn't yet finished stitching his side, and wasn't even dressed yet. He swore under his breath and stitched as fast as he could without ripping skin. "One second!" He called, standing before he had finished and walking to his wardrobe. He tugged the last stitch as the person knocked again, and anxiously Mairon tied the string shut and reached for his darkest robe, seeing the blood on his fingers and hoping it wasn't noticeable if he smeared it.

The knock again. "I'm coming!" He shouted, running for the door, and nearly doubling over in pain as the gash was strained. He took a deep breath, straightened himself, and swung open the door.

It was Melkor. He stood completely serious, arms by his side and face held high, but he cringed as he looked over Mairon in front of him.

"What have you been doing?" He rasped.

"Washing." Mairon's patience was at the very end of the line, and he was exhausted. "What is it you want?"

Melkor went to step inside. Mairon moved in the way. "I..." Melkor looked him over again and narrowed his eyes. "My hands were hurting again."

Mairon looked down and rolled his eyes. "Master, if it is healing you want I am not the person. Go to the _healers_ , they'll probably know what to do." He began to shut the door, just wanting to sleep, but his Master stepped in the way.

"Mairon." He said lowly.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"I came here to... I wanted to..." He trailed off, in thought, and Mairon slowly opened the door again. Melkor stared at his feet. "I came here to see if you are alright."

Mairon froze in shock. "Master, why would you care about that?"

"I thought over my reaction to your incident today, and I realized it was not the correct response. I was too harsh. Besides, your punishment was the injuries you were given."

Mairon raised an eyebrow. "Did you come here to apologize for whipping me, Master?"

He cleared his throat. "You have always been by my side while I healed, it did not seem right that I cause you more pain."

"Lots of things cause me pain, Master." Mairon grumbled. He stepped back. "I was just going to sleep, may I go now?"

A red heat had taken over Melkor's face. He wedged himself more in the doorway and avoided eye contact. "Would you mind if I laid with you?"

Mairon left the door open and turned, walking to his bed and sitting on the edge. Melkor popped his head in the doorway, figuring the answer was yes and stepping inside. The door shut with a click. For a long moment, neither of them really moved. Mairon was the first then, sliding under the covers and closing his eyes. He didn't care any longer what was going on around him.

He was drifting off when a body laid down beside him. A large arm draped over his side, avoiding the gash, and the weight difference made Mairon roll into the form curled around him. It was warm and it was drowsy and Mairon wouldn't have been able to stay awake if he tried. A settled darkness took over his mind. Maybe his duty did not have to be so terrible after all. 


End file.
